Noel M., 10th Grade: "The Story of Your Life"
You were seven years old when you first realized you were different. All the girls in your first grade class were gathered in a tight circle beside the brightly colored plastic pieces of the playground, including you. There was giggling, and stories, and secret telling, things any other little girl would talk about without a second thought. And you didn’t give a second thought… That is, until the topic of boys came into conversation.
The tiny voice in your head sounded confused as it whispered, ‘what? Why boys?’
You didn’t know the answer to that question, though you really wish you did. You wanted to ask the question out loud. So, as any seven year old girl would do, you did. You saw the eyes of every little girl widen a little before one of them giggled at you.
“Because, silly. Girls like boys, and boys like girls.”
The conversation resumed as though you hadn’t interrupted at all, but your head kept going. Does that make you a
boy?
You were eleven years old when you lost your best friend.
Spring was always your favorite season. All the flowers were in full bloom, and the smells surrounded the earth like a sweet symphony that could be appreciated by anyone. You were walking through the park, holding hands, as many best friends do, with a girl named Alexis. Her skin was caramel colored and her hair hung in chocolate corkscrews that fell down her back in waves. You thought she was absolutely lovely, and she came over to your house every weekend.
She was your absolute best friend in the whole wide world, so you didn’t see a problem with the idea of pressing a tiny peck to her lips, because in your mind, she’d love you no matter what. So you did.
You watched her face scrunch up in disgust, and her eyes light with realization. You were very sure you’d never forget the look she gave you.
And with a hiss of “You like girls!”she never spoke to you again.
You were thirteen when you were told that girls didn’t count.
Truth or dare is a game that is infamous for being played at all kinds of parties. Yes, even the parties of innocent Middle School students. At your very own birthday party, that game was obviously the biggest hit. It was played all night.
While most girls would choose dare, there were a select few that decided it would be interesting to pick truth when they were asked. You were one of those select few.
“Truth or dare?”
“Truth.”
“Who was your first kiss?”
You thought a moment. You’d only ever kissed one person. “A girl named Alexis.”
“A girl?” several people shrieked before bursting into laughter. You merely shrugged, cheeks turning pink in shame.
The girl next to you, nudged you playfully, giggling in a friendly way. “Pfft, girls don’t count.”
‘Why not?’ The voice in your head sounded sad.
You were fifteen when the bullying began.
It was everywhere, the laughing and the mockery. Everywhere you went, it didn’t matter who was around, someone would trip you, snickering as you’d topple over. There would be shards of paper thrown at you, along with a string of insults, coming from the smirking lips of someone who was certain they were better than you. There were unforgiving words scrawled across your locker door in crude messy lettering. One girl even took a scissor to your braid, successfully cutting off 8 inches of your hair, while whispering the word ‘sinner’.
That day, you stood in front of 36 students and bellowed, “I’D RATHER BURN IN HELL WITH THE GIRL I LOVE, THAN GO TO HEAVEN WITH SOMEONE LIKE YOU.”
The classroom was bursting with tense silence as you gathered your belongings and walked home, tears dripping down your cheeks the entire time. That night you sheared off the rest of your hair, leaving it in shaggy tufts that reached your ears, and poured black dye over the blonde tresses that were still present.
You were eighteen when you fell in love.
You’d always thought that love was the cheesiest idea ever conceived. Everyone your age infatuated with it. Walking down the halls of your very typical high school each day, it was very common to see couples hugging before class. Every day there were girls giggling at boys in ways they considered flirtatious, but you considered irritating, and boys leaning on lockers, absolutely convinced they were the coolest thing since Aerosmith. You’d always scoffed as you walked past them, rolling your eyes and blasting music through your ear buds.
But gazing across the classroom at the girl named Ember who beamed at you every day, and made your heart flutter with a simple glance, you were positive you were in love.
You were 18 when you went on your first date.
“I can’t believe you actually said yes,” you blush deeply, running your hand through your shaggy black hair.
“I can’t believe you thought I wouldn’t.” Ember smiled, lacing her fingers through yours. She looked at you in a way no one ever had before, and you relished each moment she did. The two of you strolled through the park, hand in hand, chatting until the sun was far past the horizon, and the stars were shimmering in a way that rivaled her brilliant green eyes. Her voice was melodic, and you clung to each word of every story that passed lips as though you were worried you’d never hear her voice again. You walked her home that night.
You were nineteen when she moved in.
You heard the doorbell of your apartment ring, and sprinted to the door, calling “I’ve got it!” to your roommates. Upon flinging open the door, your eyes were met with the gloomiest sight you’d ever seen. Ember had two suitcases sitting next to her quivering figure. The framed picture of the two of you kissing at Graduation was clutched tightly to her chest, as tears streamed down her cheeks and smudged her makeup, and her lip quivered as she whispered the words you’d hoped she’d never have to hear.
“They told me not to come back…”
She’d come out to her parents.
That was the first night you’d ever cried tears for someone other than yourself.
It’s been two and a half years since you proposed, and a year and three months since her parents didn’t show up at the wedding. But she didn’t mind.
You remember her saying, “If they think their love is any different than ours, then they don’t deserve to be here.”
You’re twenty two now, and you’re sitting in the delivery room, Ember grasping your hand, with her cheeks tinted pink, and brow covered in a sheen of sweat. Her eyes are screwed shut and her chestnut hair is either splayed across the hospital pillow, or stuck to her damp face.
The doctors are repetitive in chanting the word “Push!” at her, and she still manages to remain calm as she follows their instructions, letting out short cries, until seemingly out of nowhere, a baby appears, and the room is filled with its shrill cry. Tears drip down her face as you kiss her head and smooth her hair, earning you the smile you adore so much.
“It’s a girl,” the doctor announces happily, handing Ember a bundle of pink blankets.
You grin, wiping away a stray tear, and whisper, “She’s beautiful.”
Ember nods, “Yeah… yeah she is.”
In that moment, you realize that even though the world may never agree with you, nor support you, you don’t care. You don’t need the world’s approval to be happy. All you’ll ever need is right in front of you.
The tiny voice in your head sounded confused as it whispered, ‘what? Why boys?’
You didn’t know the answer to that question, though you really wish you did. You wanted to ask the question out loud. So, as any seven year old girl would do, you did. You saw the eyes of every little girl widen a little before one of them giggled at you.
“Because, silly. Girls like boys, and boys like girls.”
The conversation resumed as though you hadn’t interrupted at all, but your head kept going. Does that make you a
boy?
You were eleven years old when you lost your best friend.
Spring was always your favorite season. All the flowers were in full bloom, and the smells surrounded the earth like a sweet symphony that could be appreciated by anyone. You were walking through the park, holding hands, as many best friends do, with a girl named Alexis. Her skin was caramel colored and her hair hung in chocolate corkscrews that fell down her back in waves. You thought she was absolutely lovely, and she came over to your house every weekend.
She was your absolute best friend in the whole wide world, so you didn’t see a problem with the idea of pressing a tiny peck to her lips, because in your mind, she’d love you no matter what. So you did.
You watched her face scrunch up in disgust, and her eyes light with realization. You were very sure you’d never forget the look she gave you.
And with a hiss of “You like girls!”she never spoke to you again.
You were thirteen when you were told that girls didn’t count.
Truth or dare is a game that is infamous for being played at all kinds of parties. Yes, even the parties of innocent Middle School students. At your very own birthday party, that game was obviously the biggest hit. It was played all night.
While most girls would choose dare, there were a select few that decided it would be interesting to pick truth when they were asked. You were one of those select few.
“Truth or dare?”
“Truth.”
“Who was your first kiss?”
You thought a moment. You’d only ever kissed one person. “A girl named Alexis.”
“A girl?” several people shrieked before bursting into laughter. You merely shrugged, cheeks turning pink in shame.
The girl next to you, nudged you playfully, giggling in a friendly way. “Pfft, girls don’t count.”
‘Why not?’ The voice in your head sounded sad.
You were fifteen when the bullying began.
It was everywhere, the laughing and the mockery. Everywhere you went, it didn’t matter who was around, someone would trip you, snickering as you’d topple over. There would be shards of paper thrown at you, along with a string of insults, coming from the smirking lips of someone who was certain they were better than you. There were unforgiving words scrawled across your locker door in crude messy lettering. One girl even took a scissor to your braid, successfully cutting off 8 inches of your hair, while whispering the word ‘sinner’.
That day, you stood in front of 36 students and bellowed, “I’D RATHER BURN IN HELL WITH THE GIRL I LOVE, THAN GO TO HEAVEN WITH SOMEONE LIKE YOU.”
The classroom was bursting with tense silence as you gathered your belongings and walked home, tears dripping down your cheeks the entire time. That night you sheared off the rest of your hair, leaving it in shaggy tufts that reached your ears, and poured black dye over the blonde tresses that were still present.
You were eighteen when you fell in love.
You’d always thought that love was the cheesiest idea ever conceived. Everyone your age infatuated with it. Walking down the halls of your very typical high school each day, it was very common to see couples hugging before class. Every day there were girls giggling at boys in ways they considered flirtatious, but you considered irritating, and boys leaning on lockers, absolutely convinced they were the coolest thing since Aerosmith. You’d always scoffed as you walked past them, rolling your eyes and blasting music through your ear buds.
But gazing across the classroom at the girl named Ember who beamed at you every day, and made your heart flutter with a simple glance, you were positive you were in love.
You were 18 when you went on your first date.
“I can’t believe you actually said yes,” you blush deeply, running your hand through your shaggy black hair.
“I can’t believe you thought I wouldn’t.” Ember smiled, lacing her fingers through yours. She looked at you in a way no one ever had before, and you relished each moment she did. The two of you strolled through the park, hand in hand, chatting until the sun was far past the horizon, and the stars were shimmering in a way that rivaled her brilliant green eyes. Her voice was melodic, and you clung to each word of every story that passed lips as though you were worried you’d never hear her voice again. You walked her home that night.
You were nineteen when she moved in.
You heard the doorbell of your apartment ring, and sprinted to the door, calling “I’ve got it!” to your roommates. Upon flinging open the door, your eyes were met with the gloomiest sight you’d ever seen. Ember had two suitcases sitting next to her quivering figure. The framed picture of the two of you kissing at Graduation was clutched tightly to her chest, as tears streamed down her cheeks and smudged her makeup, and her lip quivered as she whispered the words you’d hoped she’d never have to hear.
“They told me not to come back…”
She’d come out to her parents.
That was the first night you’d ever cried tears for someone other than yourself.
It’s been two and a half years since you proposed, and a year and three months since her parents didn’t show up at the wedding. But she didn’t mind.
You remember her saying, “If they think their love is any different than ours, then they don’t deserve to be here.”
You’re twenty two now, and you’re sitting in the delivery room, Ember grasping your hand, with her cheeks tinted pink, and brow covered in a sheen of sweat. Her eyes are screwed shut and her chestnut hair is either splayed across the hospital pillow, or stuck to her damp face.
The doctors are repetitive in chanting the word “Push!” at her, and she still manages to remain calm as she follows their instructions, letting out short cries, until seemingly out of nowhere, a baby appears, and the room is filled with its shrill cry. Tears drip down her face as you kiss her head and smooth her hair, earning you the smile you adore so much.
“It’s a girl,” the doctor announces happily, handing Ember a bundle of pink blankets.
You grin, wiping away a stray tear, and whisper, “She’s beautiful.”
Ember nods, “Yeah… yeah she is.”
In that moment, you realize that even though the world may never agree with you, nor support you, you don’t care. You don’t need the world’s approval to be happy. All you’ll ever need is right in front of you.